A Bright Sundown

The Philosopher in Meditation – Painting by Rembrandt

Now that we are merely a memory,

I can’t help but wonder,

of our early days from February,

when we were madly in love,

or at least I was.

In hopes to belong,

I grew accustomed to your presence,

what once felt unfamiliar,

soon became known,

the seeds that were sown in hopes of roses and daisies,

grew into weeds,

how they soon grew wild,

and our home was surrounded by grey seas,

I absorbed your sorrows and plucked thorns off your stem,

watched your flowers bloom,

as mine withered from within,

now that many nights have come and gone,

the night’s darkness seems to fade,

and moon’s brightness matches the sun’s,

that is how bright you once shined, dear one,

each morning, the dawn seems brighter than before,

indeed, the heart still longs for a place to belong,

but your presence isn’t awaited anymore,

all the glitter and gold,

turned into dust,

what weight do words carry now?

for agony still exists,

and the heartache persists,

but I guess somethings are better left untold